Shrouded Shore: The Many Musings of Thom Singleton

  September Morning Golden green glows between the scintillating trees. Sun lights a shining portal to forest mysteries. Solar arc of September leans southward day by day. Autumn hints of his coming in changing color displays. The hummingbirds still hover here over their sugary larder. They know they soon will buzz their wings to their southerly quarters. The orioles no longer appear for their morning banquet. They, it seems, have already departed on their down South junket. The squirrels, though, are gathering nuts to squirrel them away. They will thank themselves in winter for their fall food forays. Some year ’rounders do not gather but live for today. They always seem to weather the winter - cardinals, chickadees, and jays.

  Namaste Nepal, small but tall. Area of Arkansas, height of Heaven. The mountain walls of the Himalayas have split the Nepalese into small tribes. Scores of ethnic groups speak many tongues. Yet they also speak a language of the heart, greet each other with a bow and hands joined as in prayer, saying “Namaste.” Namaste, “I bow to the divine in you.” What if all peoples of the Earth did that, each to the other…and really meant it? Namaste, “I bow to the divine in you.”